


Darkness and Despair

by LpsClair



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, F/F, F/M, Horror, M/M, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22165294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LpsClair/pseuds/LpsClair
Summary: This is my collection of more grotesque and dark drabbles and short stories. Most of these won't have sequels but if they do then I'll add them in the notes of that chapter. I should state that most of these are written when no one stops my creative freedom, as such these can get very gory and possibly triggering to some people, I will add a warning to the notes if this is the case.As always feedback is always appreciated in forms of comments and kudos.





	1. Death is Permanent?

"What's at the bottom?"

My best friend asked when I showed the hole in my back garden. "There is no bottom," I whispered giving him a push.

I stayed by the edge, simply listening to his screams and desperations for salvation. It felt like music, the soft waves of mud and dirt covering him again.

My best friend always managed to escape.

Before leaving I covered the hole again. I know that for him it doesn't matter. The wooden cover of my stage only lengthens his stay.

...

A couple were woken up by a single crow. Tapping incessantly at their window.

The same couple cried silently once again, the sound they had come to attain with an omen of death. They heard this sound so many times over and over again since they're family has moved here.

Even the knowledge that it wouldn't last forever did nothing to console them.


	2. The Little White Figure

it was dark, quiet and cold, I don't understand why I agreed to do this as a dare. The building creaked and moaned as I stepped along the flooring, the walls bucked if I pressed on the old frames of paintings. I wasn't sure what to expect here, but old lamps being lit was not it.

My friends have left me from the sounds of a revving car and gravel being pulled away. I gulped. I might take Criminology but I didn't want to find myself in here. This has nothing to with law or social behaviour. Right? I wish one of them could have failed too.

I was alone, or so I had assumed, the lit candles told me something different, as they both looked newly lit and candles replaced at least a few weeks ago. But who I was with was an absolute mystery to me, according to everything newspaper and book I had found told us that the old hospital was empty and abandoned, so why was someone still inside?

Stopping momentarily to think and regain by surroundings, I noticed a small movement of white, and tiny flicker of fire. Was someone moving towards me? The floors didn't creak or moan, I saw no smoke come from the flame. But I did feel fear, a certain terror, like cold water, ran through me. Smothering me on its path, as if I was some kind of dirt that needed to be cleaned.

I heard something drag across the floor, like a small piece of metal. I shivered where I stood as if I was bolted to the floor, a curtain of sorts. The figure came closer and the light became taller and redder. Slowly I lifted my torch, it was small and LED, but it would work for now.

Bloodstains were visible on the figure's white dress, although now they were brown and faded. This was a hospital, right? Was this figure an old patient? They certainly looked like it, but why? Their candle was a stick-like and white, no doubt beeswax.

"Can I help you?" my voice echoed and I felt small, despite my six-foot height. It titled its head to the side, moving the candle so I could see their face, it looked pale but I could tell that it used to be dark an olive tone.

Then I heard the tapping of their feet, the raking of the metal against the floor, they were speeding towards me, almost running. I stumbled back. Tripping over my shoe. I lost my torch in trying to catch my fall with my hands. The figure loomed over me, watching my face. Their eyes were a dull green.

The metal needle was swaying over my eyes, connected to a black thread, fine and cotton-like. My eyes felt heavy and I was asleep within seconds.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Descriptions of major gore and violence

The Dark Lord had just two things in mind when he marked Draco Lucius Malfoy.

1\. Kill Dumbledore  
2\. Make Lucius jealous

The Dark Lord wanted Draco to be one of the best wizards to ever live, he wanted Draco to continue on his legacy. To make sure that Draco would stand all he had in mind for a teen, it was only fair to have Draco kill the beloved Headmaster. Yes, it did particularly break the poor boy, but his determination to succeed was evident to the Dark Lord all the same.

With regards to Lucius; he knew what Draco wanted more than paternal recognition, Draco wanted to outdo his father, outrank him. Draco wanted it because he knew it would make his father more proud.

But greed is a sin, and every sin has a price one must be willing to pay.

That was the Draco Lucius Malfoy Harry Potter ended updating after the war. The Draco who had achieved his goals, the Draco who had indeed continued on the Dark Lord's legacy, and the Draco who had paid dearly for everything.

You would never assume anything bad happened to Draco. But if you look closer. His hands are skeletal, ivory in colour. A gift the Dark Lord had awarded him, that's what his mother always said.

That's the only part the public ever see.

The Dark Lord knew how to force Draco to get better, it wasn't through threats of murder. How do you force dependence out of someone? By taking away what they are dependent on.

How do you force a wizard or witch to learn non-verbal and wandless Magic? You take away their hands and tongue.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

It was cold but dry. Something Draco would be forever thankful for; he could, however, think of much more comfortable ways to go about this. "My Lord?" He asked softly turning his head to face him, strapped to a table with his hands immobilised. The knife glistened in the firelight, instinctively Draco tried to move his hands.

The Dark Lord smiled, the sight made Draco cringe, "You've already told your final words to your parents, what more do you require?" His fingers brushed against Draco's wrist, placing the knife on his chest.

"What will you do with my wand? And will it be quick?" Draco asked, he wasn't scared, no now it was too late to be scared. He wasn't getting off the table until his hands had been butchered from his arms, and his tongue cut. "What about my ring?"

A smile was what he got back in return "Quick as it possibly could be, and should you want it I'll return your wand." Lord Voldemort paused, as of thinking of a response, "Don't fret over your ring Draco, you'll still have a neck after this."

It was then the knife was picked up again and sliced. Draco hardly suppressed a whimper, but a single tear did fall. It was only seconded as he felt it again. Lord Voldemort had indeed done as previously promised and stopped the bleeding quickly. "There there, no need to cry." He wasn't crying, he was sniffling.

It felt strange. Yes, Draco was given a while to adjust to the new feeling. What he once had total control over he had suddenly lost. It was unbelievable how easily he had got his head around it. "Don't worry, you be able to speak one language Draco." The way that was said... That's why Draco had been learning Parsletonge! He nodded and opened his mouth, licking his dry lips "I'll save you annoyances."

Draco didn't know what he meant by that but it soon didn't matter. As with an hour ago, Draco began to shut his eyes. He felt a sharp nail grab the tip of his tongue and pull it slightly. Slice. Curiously he opened his eyes "Keep them open, I know you want to watch." Oh, how he wanted to call lier. But it was true.  
"Do you want your wand after this?" Draco nodded, his mouth still open.

The last words he would ever say would be 'What about my ring?'. It made him internally huff, he would never get to tell Harry how much he cared. How much he loved Harry. When thought about, his family meant a little more; that ring and eventually the Lordship ring would protect him.

Keeping his eyes open he watched as Lord Voldemort pressed the clean knife to where his tongue met his jaw. He felt his heartbeat pick up, it was no longer steady, rapid and efficient. His core had tied itself into a knot at his centre. Oh Lords no! He saw Lord Voldemort smirk growing. This wasn't what he would imagine this planning out.

Blood filled his mouth immediately as his tongue met the bin where his hands were. He spluttered and spit into a bowl. He took the cup of water, cold he noticed, to help him expelled the irony, metallic taste coating his mouth. It took five cups of water before it finally stopped.

He would get his rewards eventually. He would be praised for the pain he braved. And he would be remembered for what it helped him achieve.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Nevertheless, Harry Potter loved Draco with all his heart, they spent every waking moment with each other. They could communicate with one language. Parseltongue. Afterall, who needs a tongue to hiss? Within a year they had announced a wedding date. The world seemed at peace with Voldemort's ideas at play but adapted to not be synonymous with genocide.

A few months after that night Draco had cancelled one of his rewards, it would make little difference, so he didn't think it mattered a whole lot. Harry didn't care. He liked Draco regardless of anything.

Although he did pick up his wand now and then to make sparks fly. He wanted to use it for the wedding and then place it in the Malfoy Vault, as an heirloom. He used his father's wand if it was necessary, but most of time had it float beside him, or have the teeth attach to his clothes.

They were happy. The wizarding world was happy.

That was all that mattered.


End file.
